Mr. Hockey Lives!

            One of the greatest figures in sports history died a few days ago. Gordie Howe is still called Mr. Hockey by fans like me who were privileged to see him play, both in person and on TV. I was also privileged to chat with him at an auto show in Toronto back in the 90s.  When I mentioned that his old linemate Ted Lindsay was a member of my church in Rochester Hills, Michigan, he laughed fondly and said, “That old bastard must sit in the front pews because he’s deaf.”

            Howe’s death and that of Mohammed Ali got me thinking about the immortality of sports heroes. Their mortal bodies may not live on, but their exploits on the ice, in the ring, and on the playing field live on in their fans. I still have vivid memories of Ted Williams hitting home runs just for me, of Bob Cousy’s playmaking, of Rocky Marciano’s right hand, and of so many others I worshiped as a boy growing up in New England.

            This kind of immortality, to be sure, is fleeting. It fades with the passage of time and eventually vanishes as all things mortal must. Old guys like me keep the memories alive while we can, just as we hope that our children and grandchildren will remember us after our passing. Otherwise, we must accept record books as imperfect substitutes for memories, just as our writings and accomplishments will give future generations only a glimpse of who we were.

            That’s all part of life, I suppose. Yet, when we talk about the old days, we can still relive the joy of the moment.  “Gordie Howe? I met him. I saw him play.”